


Threads

by thewestmeadow



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestmeadow/pseuds/thewestmeadow
Summary: Luca Changretta is a New York dressmaker, and a longtime friend of yours. He dresses you for every occasion, never saying a word of his true feelings for you, until a date gone wrong drives you into his arms.





	Threads

You’d known Mr. Changretta for quite some time, as the owner of the New York clothing house where you always commissioned your new outfits. He had become a close friend and confidante over the years you had known each other, and knew your style and taste better than anyone. At times he would surprise you with outfits you hadn’t even known you wanted.

Ironically, he probably knew your body better than anyone in the city, yet the closest he ever came to touching you was a brush on the shoulder as he tried new fabrics, the feeling of his tape measure cinched around your waist, or his fingers zipping up the back of a new blouse or dress.

You dropped by one morning in a flush of excitement. Luca sat in his usual chair by the window with a sketchbook in his lap, pen in one hand, coffee in the other. His shop was clean and open, with a view of the New York streets, and several dresses and suits on display in the window.

He always smiled when he saw you— today he rose immediately and kissed you on the cheek as you approached. There was always something curiously open about his look when he laid eyes on you. It must have been his designer’s eye taking in your outfit, appreciating your style. Sometimes you thought it could be something more— but you didn’t let yourself linger on those thoughts.

“How are you, dear?” he asked as he drew back.

“I’m wonderful. I have a date tonight.”

A knowing smile came to Luca’s lips. “New outfit, then.”

“Absolutely. I want to make a good impression.”

“How would it be possible for you to make a bad impression?”

“Being poorly dressed, in an outfit that isn’t yours,” you said with a wink.

This pleased Luca. You could already see his mind churning with ideas.

“You want to stick around? I already have your measurements, but I could show you some fabrics.”

“I want to see. It might help with the nerves to know what I’ll be wearing.”

“Honey, I wouldn’t worry about your nerves. I’d worry more about his. Whoever he is...”

Those last words were tinged with a question. You decided to indulge him.

“I don’t really know what he does. We haven’t gotten that far yet. But he’s a true New Yorker.”

“Good. Anyone less, for you...” Luca trailed off, shaking his head. You carefully watched his face as he sorted through the bolts of fabric neatly arranged by color along the wall. It was impossible to read anything in those closely guarded eyes, which were normally so full of emotion.

With your input, he chose swatches of black silk, midnight blue, and silvery gray. You stepped back, admiring the mannequin with the fabric loosely draped over its form. Luca kept arranging things to please his perfectionist’s eye. Finally you put a hand on his shoulder with a smile.

“I’ll let you work. See you this evening. And thank you.”

Luca nodded back at you with a smile, totally absorbed in his work. He set a needle carefully between his lips and began to measure out a length of dark thread. As you reached the door, he called out.

“Y/N.”

You turned. He had already removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“Where are you going for dinner?”

You told him the name of the Italian restaurant your date had chosen. You could see Luca bite his tongue. He just shrugged and grinned.

“Don’t be harsh,” you laughed.

“Same goes for you. I’ve seen what you do to men.” He winked at you and returned to his work. Strangely, as you left his shop, you felt your heart fluttering as it hadn’t in a long time. Luca’s long forearms, his deft hands, his intent gaze played through your mind as you walked along the busy New York sidewalk, buzzing with the constant sound of traffic which had seemed to escape the pristine calm of Luca’s shop.

* * *

You returned at dusk to find Luca in his suit once more, appearing quite calm and content. He had seen you coming, and held the door for you. The shop was quiet, and the faint evening light turned blue in the windows.

“Come on,” he said, placing his hand lightly on your back and leading you through the door into his studio. The mannequin stood alone in the center of the room, pale and stoic, with the dark dress trailing onto the floor. It took your breath when you saw it. The stark form was beautifully cut, reserved without being plain, but not overly extravagant.

You turned to Luca and squeezed his arm with wordless excitement. He gave you such a pleased smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges, that you thought your heart would melt.

Your reaction said enough. Luca began to unzip the dress from the mannequin. You knew the drill. You slid out of your current dress, still wearing a slip, as Luca brought the new dress for you to step into. His hands carried the dress with utmost care, and he lifted it around your torso expertly. You held out your arms as he circled around you, adjusting the draping neck and the long sleeves. He stepped behind you and you felt his fingers slowly working the zipper up the back.

“Feeling nervous?” came his low, even voice.

“Not anymore,” you said. He stepped in front of you again to check his work, then simply to admire you.

You checked the clock on the wall, and gave a start.

“Shit. I have to get going.”

“Take a look in the mirror. I’ll get a cab.”

And he strode out of the room, leaving you alone for a brief moment. You stood looking at yourself in the full-length mirror. Luca’s clothes always made you feel like the best version of yourself. They were always flattering, fitting perfectly to your unique body type. He knew how to arrange color and fabric to bring out the truest beauty of his subject. And he seemed to know you best of all.

You went out to meet Luca at the door. “I’m so sorry, I left my clothes all over the floor.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just me here tonight.”

“I’ll come back for them later tonight. Or it could be tomorrow.”

You didn’t say more. There was no telling where the date would go. But you didn’t want to embarrass Luca with such implications.

“Say no more. I’ll hold onto your dress.”

And he gave another gracious smile and you thanked him profoundly before stepping out into the night, where your cab was waiting.

* * *

It was past midnight. You stood on the sidewalk looking desperately up the street for a cab. Your date had already left in a fury. It had not gone well; he had badly mistreated the server at the restaurant, and you had voiced your disapproval of his rudeness. He had not taken this well. In a few short hours, his demeanor had gone from pleasantly charming to downright ugly. When you told him you were going home alone that night, he became even more outraged. The staff had intervened when he began yelling, and before you had a chance to leave, he was already storming out.

You stood shivering as you threw your arm out for the approaching cab. The driver asked where you were heading. Your mind raced. You didn’t want to go home and be alone right now. So you told him to take you to Mr. Changretta’s dress shop— everyone in New York knew where it was.

There was no telling if he would still be there, but you gave it a shot. When you drove up, the lights in the window were still illuminated. Relieved, you paid the driver and hurried to the door. But the door was locked. Peering inside, you could still see the light on in the studio. You tapped on the door, hoping to see movement within. No one came. You sighed, leaning back against the glass. Unable to help it, you started to cry. Tears streamed warmly down your chilled cheeks. You then heard the door swish open and Luca’s voice in your ear.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You looked at him, your face streaked with tears, and smiled ironically.

“Didn’t go well,” you choked.

Luca immediately wrapped an arm around you and pulled you inside. He cut the lights in the front of the shop and took you directly back into his studio. You glanced at your old dress folded nearly on a stool. Luca pulled out a chair for you and sat on another stool nearby.

“He was a fucking asshole,” you burst out. “What a god damn waste.”

Luca’s face was wrought with sympathy. His brows knit together and he almost reached out his hand, but held it back.

“Sorry you had to go to the trouble,” you murmured, wiping your face. But Luca was shaking his head.

“You kidding? At least I got to see it on you. I feel like the lucky one.” Then his face darkened. “Who is this asshole anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it… I don’t even know his last name.”

“Lucky for him,” Luca murmured angrily. Then his face softened. “Should have let me recommend the restaurant.”

Your eyes flickered up to him, and for a moment you silently locked eyes with each other. The air between you was tense and silent. Luca then reached out slowly and took your hand, his strong fingers wrapping gently around it.

“Maybe you can take me next time,” you said in a voice barely above a whisper.

It was finally out. You saw Luca’s eyes flicker with comprehension and hopefulness.

“I would love too,” he said haltingly.

It was late, and you were very emotional, and so the words kept coming. “Every time you dress me, Luca… I feel your hands, your fingers against my skin. And I wonder if this is just the touch of a friend and a dressmaker… or if it’s something more.”

You felt Luca’s grip tighten around your hand. “Do you want it to be more?”

Shyly, you nodded. You felt your cheeks growing hot.

“I’ve wanted that for a long time,” Luca admitted, voice strangely hoarse. “I thought I was just your friend. Your client. How could I cross those bounds?”

“I wish you would,” you said in a whisper, casting your eyes to the floor. Luca rose, pulling you out of your chair with him. You suddenly felt his hands on your waist, settling on the fabric of your new dress. You felt them rise along your back. He was pulling you steadily closer, so that your body was now pressed fully against his. Your mind flashed to all those times he had stood so close to you, a needle between his lips, thread winding around his fingers, his brow furrowed. Now there was a look of utter vulnerability on his face. You saw how much he wanted you; indeed, how long he had been wanting you for.

“Oh, love,” he murmured. “Let’s get this dress off of you.”

With that he kissed you, his warm lips against yours, gently parting them with his firm and searching kiss. You felt the zipper at your back as you had a hundred times before— only this time, it was being slowly lowered. You felt the dress shrug off your shoulders, falling lightly to the floor. Then you stood in only your shift. Luca’s eyes ran over you as he took your hand and led you to the velvet _chaise lounge_ in the corner of his studio.

“Let me see you,” he breathed, kissing your neck as he gripped the back of your slip and pulled it over your head. You felt his suit against you, the heat from his body warming your naked torso. Luca stepped back, running his hands over your hips.

“I always wondered,” he said with a slight smirk. “And I was right.”

“Right about what?” you mumbled, your fingers grasping his hair.

“You look even better with nothing on.”

With that he took you in his arms, hungrily, almost desperately, and lowered you onto the sofa.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Luca could have been a fashion designer in another life, so this was a little take on that. Also... does anyone think... this could be part of a series? Let me know and I might be inspired to continue :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
